Chapter Text
He's falling.
That was all that he knew. He doesn't remember why he's falling. Doesn't remember who he is, who he knows. He only lets the cold, harsh wind hugs his body as he spreads his arms out, as if beckoning — and urging, he realizes with a start — death to envelop him in her dark embrace.
A cruel thing, death is. But he can't stop himself, tuning out the way the wind slaps at his skin, as his thoughts ran astray. Can't stop himself from thinking, that death would be peaceful. She would hold you in her arms, tears blooming in the abyss that is her eyes. She'd wail. At the mountains of grief and sorrow left behind in your passing.
It would be painful, from the way she's clutching desperately to your tiny form, sobs and whimpers escaping her lips as empty consolations are murmured into your ears. It would hurt, but it would be better than how life holds you in a chokehold, grips tightening around your leash as she tries to yank you back to her side — with a sense of urgency, you can't help the frown tugging at the corners of your mouth. Disgust, carefully masked as affection, but how she could keep the ridiculous charade up with her cutting off your only source of air you didn't know.
What life did I lead? he interrupts the thoughts that were not quite his yet with a question.
What have I done? For me to become so obsessed with the concept of death, that her presence rivals my own mother's?
He has a lot of questions, it was understandable — and quite irritating — given his position.
To be gifted life, but have that taken away soon after.
He interrupts his — now — own thoughts, as he feels arms around his sides.
He remembers steadily slipping control of his own body away. He remembers crying out, flailing his arms around like a chick demanding food, as he watches on the sidelines, a spectator of his own life. He remembers being set down on grass so green it only exists in dreams. He remembers voices, raised in alarm and calling out. He remembers them slowly quieting down, as what he assumed is his own was breathed out into the air. He remembers gripping his hair tight, a few strands coming loose because of it. He remembers feeling frustrated at the hesitation in the air, before a pair of arms slowly peels his fingers away from blond locks. He remembers more yelling, though now he recognizes it was his. But as he starts to sink back onto his own form, memories slowly coming back to him, he's being tugged away, body shaken harshly with desperation so thick he feels it in his throat. He doesn't struggle, letting the unknown intruder grasp tightly onto his wrists.
His eyes are heavy, each lashes feeling like they weigh a ton. And so, being able to only make out a few words escaping "his" lips, he walks back into the darkness.
"Stop treating me like I'm fucking fragile!"